


ain't you my baby?

by elinadsy



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 03:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinadsy/pseuds/elinadsy
Summary: A look at Militsa Gnosis and her relationship with Valkyrie Cain, as the years go by.





	ain't you my baby?

Oh, but it’s always been her.

 Militsa knew the moment she laid eyes on her, plans and professional demeanor cast aside, an embarrassing eagerness for this woman struggling through the atrocities and horrors of her past.

 Years pass, as they do; they both grow older, wiser and wiser, and still, Valkyrie Cain remains beyond her reach. She flirts, yes, sends warm smiles and toothy smirks, yes, and on one memorable occasion at the Requiem Ball (the second after they met), presses her lips to Militsa’s flushed cheek.

 But Militsa can never get up the courage to take it further, and Valkyrie remains ultimately untouchable, removed from her.

 Militsa’s friends urge her to move on, especially from this, from the woman who butchered thousands (it wasn’t her, Militsa protests, and they all look away at her anger), and eventually, she decides it’s time to try. When she tells Valkyrie of her plans to travel, to learn, she hopes against hope Valkyrie will beg her not to go, but instead, Valkyrie beams, encourages her.

 So she hands in her notice of resignation at Corrival Academy, and leaves to see the world.

 She’s never left Europe before. It’s confronting, at first; the architecture, the accents, the people. She’s nearly fifty years old, but standing still among the bustling hundreds of Kyoto, Militsa feels like a lost little girl once more, tears in her eyes and her bag clenched in her fist.

 

-

 

 But it gets easier, as all things do. By the time she comes to Beijing, being alone and being lonely are things she can separate. Militsa learns, quite to her surprise, she’s enjoying herself.

 Japan to China, China to Indonesia, Indonesia to Australia. She visits Uluru, the Australian Cradle of Magic, feels the magic scorching her skin like the sun beating down from on high. Her freckles increase; so does her confidence.

 She has a few one night stands, of course; a Chinese woman two hundred years older than her; an Indonesian mortal just out of her university degree; a person in Perth with dark hair and dark eyes.

 (Militsa has a type. She tries not to think who these people all remind her of.)

 She likes Australia quite a bit, and stays there for a few months, signs on to help out at the academy set up in the Outback. She grows used to the heat, and the broad accents, and starts dating another teacher there, a woman named Maggie, and for a while, Militsa is happy with this life she’s carved out for herself.

 But then her contract ends, and isn’t renewed, and she makes the tough decision to move on.

 Australia, back up to America. She backpacks and hitchhikes this time, unafraid of any mortal men, from the West Coast to the East. Two years have passed by the time she’s ambled to the other side of America, her easygoing pace and lack of rush having her spend months at a time in one spot if she particularly likes a town she passes through.

 Throughout this entire trip, she keeps in contact with her friends, Valkyrie included- but when she comes to the end of the America leg of the trip, Valkyrie initiates contact less. When Militsa asks her what she’s been up to, she says simply, _this and that_.  

Militsa wonders if she’s met someone.

(She hopes not, a sudden fierce ache that surprises her and disappoints her.)

She spends a week in Hawaii, lounging in the sun, and then one night as she brushes her teeth, she abruptly misses her little bathroom in her old flat in Ireland. She misses the weather, the accents, and the next morning she flies home.

 

-

 

 Ireland greets her like an old friend; easy, understated, and it’s almost frightening to see how easily she slips back into it, filling a Militsa shaped hole she doubts anyone ever noticed. Corrival Academy rehires her; her flat is conveniently up on the market. Once she unpacks her clothes and pulls on that old familiar cloak, the only thing she has to show for her years abroad is the excess of freckles on her skin.

 But her friends tell her she’s changed; that she walks with confidence, that her brogue has faded a little. Students seem more respectful, less likely to talk in hushed murmurs during her classes.

 Fletcher Renn summarises it simply, when they meet for coffee a week or so after the new school term.

 “You’re more sure of yourself,” he shrugs.

 “I guess,” she says, sipping her coffee.

 “I’m serious, Mil,” he insists, eyes serious under that shock of hair (these days, less shocking and more understated, as much as Fletcher Renn ever is). “You’ve grown up a lot.”

 “Ah, go on.”

 “Ladies will be all over you now, I guarantee it,” Fletcher says wisely, and slops coffee all over his jeans.

 And to her shock, he’s not wrong; Militsa goes out to a Roarhaven bar later that very night, one that’s popped up during her absence. She sits down and the bartender, a short woman with a blond bob, gives her a lazy, lascivious smile- one that’s no less lascivious when she’s looking up at Militsa from between her freckled thighs.

 Bubblegum, she calls herself. She leaves bite marks all up and down Militsa’s legs. But Bubblegum isn’t- she’s not-

 Militsa keeps her mouth shut when she comes. Bubblegum doesn’t need to know she’s thinking of someone else, someone tall and dark haired, someone she can’t move past no matter how hard she tries.

 

-

 

She tells Valkyrie she’s back in town later than any of her other friends. Part spite, part nervousness, part a determination to push past the lingering feelings she has left.

 But the moment Valkyrie walks into that cafe, hair cut to her jaw, looking happier and healthier than ever, broad shoulders and long legs and-

 Ah, Militsa thinks wearily.

 They embrace and exchange pleasantries; Militsa tells her about her trip, and even as she speaks, she feels like her experiences have dried up into husks, like nothing she’s done is interesting. And maybe before she left, Valkyrie wouldn’t have been so patient, but now- she coaxes it out of Militsa, and then she shares her own experiences, the cases she’s been working and how Alice is (she’s about to graduate from high school, thank you very much for asking).

 And, of course, entwined in all these experiences is Skulduggery Pleasant, the man Militsa has come to loathe over the years, a distaste that she’s long since learned to hide from Valkyrie. She nods politely, tunes the more involved tales out, because can’t Valkyrie see the damage he’s done to her? Dragging a child into a murder case? Encouraging lying to her parents for years on end?

 It makes her furious; as a teacher, as a friend, as a-

 “-and then I stabbed him,” Valkyrie says lazily, twirling a fork between her fingers. Militsa snaps back to the present immediately.

  “He deserved it,” Militsa says, nodding. Valkyrie pauses, gives her a funny look.

  “Uh, sure,” Valkyrie says, slowly. “Skulduggery really deserved being stabbed in the stomach as a party trick.”

 Damn it.

 Valkyrie checks her watch and whistles. “Skul’s meant to be picking me up for an Arbiter case in a minute. I better get going.”

 “Oh, sure,” Militsa says, hiding her disappointment. “No problem.”

 “I’ll see you around,” Valkyrie assures her distractedly. She stands up and pulls on her trenchcoat.

 “Do you- do you want to get a drink?” Militsa says, more desperate than she intends to be, than she thought she would be, and curses herself for it.

 “Sure,” Valkyrie says, already halfway out the door. “Let me know when and where!”

 And then she’s gone, and before the door swings shut behind her, Militsa can see the infamous Bentley pull up along the kerb, gleaming and handsome and effortless.

 

-

 

The case is all over the Roarhaven news link that night; live footage shows Valkyrie dragging a handcuffed man from a hidden little bunker on the edge of Roarhaven. A tall, skinny man who must be a facade-wearing Skulduggery Pleasant leads up two young girls after them. She looks resplendent, furious, wrathful, behind her professional expression. The reporter, a Mr. Spark, corners her the moment she’s shoved the criminal into the Sanctuary police car.

 “Arbiter Cain! Arbiter Cain! What can you tell us about the child pornography ring that Alex Ryn was running? How did it slip past Roarhaven’s security protocols? What about-”

 “No comment, Spark, you know I don’t comment on Arbiter matters to the press,” Valkyrie says. Mr. Spark, ever the journalist, doesn’t take no for an answer despite the exhaustion and fury simmering on her face. He and the cameraman follow her back to where Pleasant is helping the girls into another Sanctuary car.

 “Arbiter Cain, what about the rumors of you and Sk-”

 “ _Enough_ , Spark,” she snaps. “There are two mortal children here who need you to get the hell out of my face. _Now._ ”

 Behind them, Pleasant is saying something to the children that makes them smile through their tears; one of them hugs him, and his facade looks surprised. Valkyrie sees this and her expression softens, an expression Militsa has never seen her wear.

 “Arbiter Cain-”

 Valkyrie looks back at him, and her eyes are crackling with white static. She looks terrifyingly calm.

 “Mr. Spark, the Supreme Mage has made it clear to me that you know of the correct procedure for reporting on crimes and that if you want any further information, that you are to speak to a designated Sanctuary spokesperson.” She looks at someone just to the left of the camera- presumably, the cameraman. “As an Arbiter, I am not under any obligation to indulge your lack of respect for these victims by answering your questions about the atrocities they have been through, nor am I bound by Sanctuary law to restrain my increasing desire to smash your pretty little sigil-cam in half. So move, _or I will move you._ ”

 Militsa’s heart is thudding. She looks… otherworldly.

 The camera quickly turns away, and the screen follows Mr. Spark hastily making his way to a Sanctuary representative.

 Militsa gets out her phone, sends Valkyrie a text: _are you free this weekend?_

 

-

 

She spends all day getting ready; perfectly styles her hair, puts just enough makeup on to accentuate her eyes, shaves her legs, her armpits, picks out a killer outfit. She gets there twenty minutes early; gets them a little booth in Roarhaven’s most happening club, orders herself a drink to relax.  

 Her friend, Samantha, keeps messaging her to say, essentially, _what the fuck are you doing we talked about this_ but Militsa doesn’t reply.

 When Valkyrie walks in, she’s… not super dressed up. Which is great! That’s good, Militsa tells herself, it means she’s relaxed around her, casual in her high waisted jeans and a turtleneck that makes her body look even sleeker than usual.

 “Hey,” Valkyrie says, sits down next to her. “Wow. I thought this was just a pub?” she laughs. “I’m underdressed.”

 “You look fantastic,” Militsa assures her, and Valkyrie laughes again. “What do you want to drink? I’m buying.”

 “Oh, just a water is fine,” Valkyrie says.

 “Come on,” Militsa says. “This place does the best cocktails, what about a gin and tonic?”

 “No, thanks,” Valkyrie says again. “I don’t really like drinking alcohol.”

 There’s a pause, an awkward one, where Militsa is somewhat annoyed, and then ashamed for feeling annoyed.

 “Ah, what about a lemonade?” Valkyrie suggests. “I don’t usually drink lemonade. It can be a treat, like.”

 “Sure,” Militsa says, goes up to the bar. She glances at Valkyrie, who is conspicuously not being approached by anyone. She can see various people shooting her looks, even though it’s been almost two decades since Darquesse, and pity jabs at her.

 But Valkyrie doesn’t seem to mind too much; she’s on her phone, smiling as she texts someone. That pity turns to jealousy now, and Militsa is startled at it, what is she, twenty years old again?

 She brings back her usual drink, a Whisky Sour, and Valkyrie’s little glass of lemonade.

 “That case a couple of days ago looked awful,” Militsa says. Valkyrie doesn’t hear her; she repeats it, and Valkyrie looks up, blinking.

 “Oh- yeah, it was,” she says, hastily stowing her phone and giving Militsa her full attention.

 (Good.)

 “Those journalists make me furious,” Militsa says. “I can’t believe he had the audacity to keep hassling you in the middle of a crime scene like that.”

  “Spark is a bit of a pain,” Valkyrie nods. “I don’t usually get that angry, but those poor kids... “

 “You really gave it to him,” Militsa says. And then, only a little jokingly, “It was kinda hot, actually.”

 Valkyrie laughed. “Uh, thanks, I guess? Skulduggery said I should have just punched him, but I’m trying to act my age these days.”

 Militsa tries to steer the conversation away from any more mentions of Pleasant. “So, have you had any funny cases recently?”

 “We’re Arbiters,” Valkyrie reminds her. “We don’t get funny cases anymore.”

 “Ah, right,” Militsa says awkwardly. “Well, what have you been up to, I guess?”

 “The usual. Working out, fighting bad guys. Skulduggery and I have been marathoning old sitcoms from the nineties, that’s been fun,” Valkyrie ticks them off, and then says, “What about you? How’s life been since you got back?”

 “It’s been okay. The kids are better students than I remember them being.”

 “Have you met anyone?” Valkyrie asks a little teasingly, and Militsa flushes. Is she asking because she might- or is she asking as a friend-

 “You know I haven’t,” she says quietly.  

 “No I don’t,” Valkyrie laughs. “That’s why I asked.”

 Militsa drains her cocktail. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you want one?”

 “No, I’m still good with my lemonade, thanks.”

 (Militsa gets a double whiskey sour. She needs it.)

 When she gets back, Valkyrie is on her phone again.  

 “Who are you talking to?” Militsa asks, taking a large mouthful of her drink; it burns on the way down and it feels like it takes root in her. “Skulduggery?”

 Valkyrie looks at her a little oddly. “Alice, actually. She’s checking we’re still good for brunch tomorrow.”

 “Great. Let’s dance, shall we?” Militsa says recklessly, and tosses back the rest of the cocktail.

 “Woah. Alright,” Valkyrie says, laughing again. Since when did she laugh this much? Militsa thinks to herself. She never laughed like this when they met.

 Militsa leads her out to the dance floor, crowded and hectic. They’re playing some new-pop hit, catchy nonsense, and they dance as much as they can in the small space. The whiskey hits her abruptly a few songs in.

 Militsa is, by and large, a reckless drunk; all her inhibitions, her embarrassments, seem insignificant when Valkyrie Cain is borderline pressed against her, laughing and smiling and dancing, and Militsa kind of maybe starts grinding on her.

 Valkyrie freezes. Militsa thinks to herself, triumphantly, she’s stunned her. So she’s a little surprised when Valkyrie steps back, puts a hand on her shoulder.

 “Alright, you’ve had too much to drink,” Valkyrie says. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

 “We just got here,” Militsa protests.

 Valkyrie nods. “And now we’re leaving. Come on, let’s get you some fish and chips, or a yiros or something. Some sort of salty carbs.”

 Valkyrie leads her down a little side street to a small shop, and sets her down. Militsa frowns as  she disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a steaming bag of chips.

 “Eat,” Valkyrie says firmly, thrusting the bag at her.

 “Fine,” Militsa says sullenly, and pushes some food into her mouth.

 “Is everything okay?” Valkyrie asks her after a while.

 “Why wouldn’t it be?” Militsa says, looking at her chips.

 Valkyrie hesitates. “I don’t know, you just seem… a little bit off.”

 The concern warms her. In the soft fluorescent lighting of the chip shop, Valkyrie’s skin looks soft, even despite all the scars she’s accumulated. Militsa misses her long hair.

 “Why’d you cut it off?” she asks.

 Valkyrie blinks. “What?”

 “Your hair. Why’d you cut it off?”

 “Oh. Skulduggery and I had to go to a swamp last year, and my hair got dreadlocked. It was gross,” Valkyrie says. She kicks at a stray can. “And it had been getting in the way for some time, so Skulduggery helped me cut it off.”

 “I liked your long hair,” Militsa pouts.

 “It was time for a change,” Valkyrie says simply.

 “Yeah,” Militsa says. “I know the feeling. But sometimes change just… doesn’t do what it should, you know?”

 “Yeah,” Valkyrie says with a little smile. “I know the feeling.”

 Militsa laughs, and Valkyrie bumps her shoulder against her. They’re sitting so close, so comfortably, and Militsa thinks of how if she just turned so slightly to the side-

 “I’m really glad we’re friends,” Valkyrie says, and Militsa blinks. “I don’t have very many, these days.”

 “Friends?” Militsa echoes, a sinking feeling in her.

 “Yeah.”

 “Oh. That’s. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 (She’s lying. But as Valkyrie stands up, any potential moment passes, and as she lies awake that night, she’s furious with herself, furious with how she could have ever thought Valkyrie’s flirting was anything other than someone experimenting, that she’s obsessed over this woman for so long, that still she wishes she had kissed her.)

 

-

 

So life returns to normal; depressingly so, in fact, besides Bubblegum, who she sees every week, who leaves bruises ever present up and down Militsa’s legs, a feature present for months on end.

 “You’re still thinking of your mystery woman?” Bubblegum asks lazily, sucking on Militsa’s nipple. Militsa arches into her.

 “Not anymore,” Militsa gasps, and Bubblegum’s satisfied hum sends her eyes into the back of her head.

 Well, it’s not true. But it’s not wrong, either. Arbiter work sends Valkyrie all over the world; they have coffee whenever she’s back in town, but just as quickly, she’s gone again. Months pass; she sees Valkyrie maybe nine times in a year; Valkyrie moves further and further down her contact list while Bubblegum stays on top- both in her texts, and in the bedroom.

 And Militsa finds that this boring everyday life has done more for her getting over Valkyrie than her trip ever did; her heart doesn’t skip a beat, anymore, when she reads her name. She doesn’t leap to Valkyrie’s defence like she used to, when people bring up Darquesse’s crimes.

 Bubblegum moves in; the flat becomes more homey. Bubblegum brings in books, a cat, an eccentric collection of alcohol, and a ring of friends who have no opinion on Valkyrie Cain and as a result, seldom ever talk about her.

 One night, laughing over a glass of wine, it occurs to Militsa, curled up against Bubblegum as David tells a story about his time in the War, that she’s… happy. It feels like finally, she’s over Valkyrie Cain.

 (She isn’t.)

 

-

 

Years and years later, Valkyrie comes back from a very short case; a bomb threat at the Kray’s castle, mere hours before the Requiem Ball.

 At this point, Militsa sees Valkyrie maybe once a year at best. And she’s fine with that; she has her own life now, her own family. So she doesn’t hear the news immediately. Not until several weeks later, in fact, when Roarhaven’s paparazzi (disproportionately loud considering there’s only six of them) take a video that sends media into a stir.

 “Mil,” Bubblegum says from the other room.

 “Hold on,” Militsa says absently, dunking her tea bag into her mug. She steps over the pile of books and comes into the lounge room, where the CTV is on. It’s footage, clearly taken by a poor quality sigil-cam, of two people-

 “Isn’t that Valkyrie Cain?” Bubblegum asks her. ‘You know her, right?”

 “Yeah,” Militsa says, leaning in, squinting. She can’t see who the other person is, turned away from the camera. A headline scrolls across the bottom of the screen:

  _War Hero and Mass Murderer- Lovers at Last?_

Valkyrie is laughing as her and the mystery man walk down the steps of a building; his arm encircles her waist, and she raises to meet him enthusiastically, passionately, turning them in the process, and-

 A white skull, grinning teeth, and she’s kissing Skulduggery Pleasant.

 Militsa sits down abruptly, heavily, her tea forgotten, shocked by the jolt that rockets through her- how- why- why would she-

 “Hasn’t he known her since she was like, five?” Bubblegum says, bemusedly.

 But Militsa, possessed by something she hasn’t felt for a long time, is already sending Valkyrie a message:

  _Please tell me it isn’t true._

 She stares at the message, thumb hovering over the button to send it.

 But what good will it do? Militsa thinks. Valkyrie looks unabashedly happy in this footage, and God knows she’s well past legal, and frankly, it’s not really any of her business anymore, is it?

 What’s the point of telling an adult woman how to live her life if she’s happy?  
 But it’s not _fair_ , Militsa thinks, venomous and petulant, and she’s horrified at herself. She deletes the message, puts her phone away, and looks at Bubblegum, who is watching the CTV with an amused, mild interest.

 “Do you reckon it’s been going on for long?” Bubblegum asks.

 “No,” Militsa murmurs. “Yes? I don’t know. There have been rumors for years, but I know categorically they were just that- rumors.”

 “Wild,” Bubblegum says. “How do they fuck?”

 “No idea,” Militsa says, trying not to think about that. She looks back at her partner, how Bubblegum’s tucking her hair behind her ear, the bow of her lips, and says, “I love you, Bubs.”

 “I love you too, Mil,” Bubblegum says.

 Militsa picks up the remote and with a decisive movement, turns the CTV off.

 Enough, she thinks.

It’s time to grow up.

**Author's Note:**

> direct any complaints to the bin, pls


End file.
